14 ()h, she ain't what she used to be . . ." Margaret watched theIn, grouped at the bar, their heads together-a cluster of men's middle-aged, sparse gray hair, neatly hrushed; and carefully curled and elaborately arranged coiffures on the women that in this light, at least, had a last, desperate look of youth. The wom- an who had toasted Chamberlain had been here once before when Margaret had come for dinner. Mrs. Taylor, T rent had called her, and she'd been in with a man other than her husband, whose hand she was holding now. 1\lar- garet had noticed her quick look around the room before she seated herself, her 6ny adjustment of her corset, betraying the fact that the achievement of that trim and almost elegant figure came only as a result of engineering and tor- ture under the smart silk print dress. ..l\. Inan they called ()liver, who looked slightly older than the others, somehow Inore confident and breezy, as though he had more money in the bank than any of his friends, led the singing with elaborate gestures of his hands, like a burlesque of Stokowski. Mr. Taylor was the least noisy of the three men. He wheezed a httIe and drank sparingly. Margaret was sure he had a bad stomach and was already looking sorrowfully ahead to the aspirin and Alka-Seltzer the next morn- ing. The third man was fat, and his scalp bloomed through his hair and he had a piped vest, so he looked like a businessman in the movies, except that when he wasn't singing his face looked intelligent and very cold. The other two women were standard suburban mothers nearing fi fty, forlornly carrying on their battle against age, loneliness, and death with powder, rouge, rejuvena- ting cream, accustomed now to neglect from their husbands and children, full of mild, half-formed re- grets for their lives as they drove behind their middle-aged chauffeurs down to New York in the late mornings for I unch and shopping. "\\'hat does that sign ay?" Mr. Clay said loudly, over the noise of the singing. He was peering out the window at the large sign on the lawn with the name of the inn on it. "' F 0 ree can sc]ence, void of offence, 1840,' " I\1argaret said "That's a queer thing to have un d sign ad- FRéé CON5CléNCé, VOID OF OFFéNCé " T () Chamberlain!" one of the women at the bar was saying, her glass held high, as Margaret Clay and her father came into the small, pleasant room, lit by candles, with a big oak fire burning steadily in the fireplace and the glassware and cutlery on the ta- hIes winking softly in the firelight. "He saved my son for me," the woman said loudly. She was a woman of nearly fifty who had o viously been pretty once. "To my good friend Neville Chamber- l o 1" a]n. The other two women and the three Inen at the bar drank soherly as 1\;lar- garet and her father sat down at a table. "That DorothyThompson!" said the friend of Neville Chamberlain. "She makes me so mad! Did you see what she wrote about him? If I had her here !." She' waved her fist and the wrinkles in her face suddenly bit deeper. "I won't read her any more. Not once more. You know what she is? She's a Red. She's rabid! " " Th o 0 . I "1\; 1 ' ]s ]s a n]ce pace, lV argaret s father said, looking around him with a happy expression. "It has a pleasant at- ITIosphere. Do you come here often?" "Boys take me here," lVlargaret said. "It's only about ten miles from school, and they like the candlelight and the open fire, even though it costs three bucks a dinner. Boys always think can- dlelight and an open fire act like heavy artillery on a girl's resistance. Two hours of that, they figure, and they can just walk in and mup up." "Margaret," Mr. Clay said, like a father, "I don't like to hear rou talk like that. " l\;largaret laughed, and leaned over and patted her father's hand. ""Vhat's .,:............'10;;.' : the matter, Pop?" she asked. "Your long years at the Stork Club turn YOll ten- der?" "You're too young to talk like that," wI r. Clay said, disliking the fact that she had called him Pop, disliking her think- ing that he went often to the Stork Club. "A twenty-year-old girl should. . ." The owner of the place, a beautifully dressed, pink-faced man of forty who looked like a boy, was standing beside their table, smiling, having come out from behind the har, where at dinner- time he mixed the drinks scrupulously h]mself. "Hello, Mr. Trent," Margaret said. "This is my father. He likes your place." "Thank you," Trent said, bowing a little, smiling like a little boy. "I'm pleased." "It has a very pleasant atmosphere," :\1 r. Clay said. "Mr. Trent has a specialty," l\1ar- o 1 " H k . 0 h " garet sau . e ma es]t W]t rum. "Rum, lime juice, sugar, a little Coin- treau in the bottom of th glass." Trent waved his hands delicately as he spoke. "It comes out foamy," l\;largaret said. "It's nice on the teeth." . "I'm making it now with black J amai- " T O d " 1\ . 1 ' 0 , ca rum, rent sa]. lV yers rum, 1t s heavier, for the autumn. I make it on the electric mixer. It gives it a nice quality." "Two," said lVlr. Clay, wishing he had the courage to order a Martini. The six people at the bar were singing now. "The old gray mare," they sang, loudly, consciously having a good time, consciously being gay and lively, and yet singing with a slight touch of burlesque, so that anybody could see these were no yokels. "The old gray mare," they sang, "she ain't what she llsed to be, ., >> . .:.-v'l(O"'" . ....- ........ rt ' .::., -:'-':::.,:::::: .:::: ' :o/:::_#ll:' I bs:::::':':{/" "' / "" --.. . .::0:: -- \ '..-:':-:' . ..... , :: : ' : : : : ,, : , , !:;:',: ::: , : , r- " , , , 1t ",' ," ", 1M '" >>" . ,.... ,jjf .'$"# "'.:':,, '" f': . </ II ...f#':'(h f"'" ,Y -"* .w:""" /oo $<""".t, :=:: :;: : .: ^ ll.rHHj!& 9 f^' " &" :::" : { , ,<;,:",:<'<,' ;F::F? -. '; .; ;> o: : : ::: .: ':', '. ...... ,,::,':"- :;.::::::;::: : ..:>>:-':.j..-v.', ::::: ..1í@.... ...., m!..'....' IlíIT dULY 2. 7, 1 9 4- 0